


Dating Games

by hello_mintblooms



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin (2019), Disney - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Online Dating, Best Friends, College Student Jasmine, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Idiots in Love, Lawyer Jafar, Love Confessions, Male-Female Friendship, Online Dating, Online Relationship, Relationship(s), Romance, Tinder Dating, Writers, Writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19435954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hello_mintblooms/pseuds/hello_mintblooms
Summary: At the age of thirty-three, Jafar is a young, single lawyer with more money than he knows what to do with. Concerned with the state of his non-existent love life, his best friend, Jasmine, decides to take matters into her own hands through the greatest modern invention known to man—Tinder. Hilarity ensues as she tries to get Jafar as many dates as possible. Will he finally be able to meet his match?





	Dating Games

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I really went there. Yes, I have absolutely lost my mind. I promised myself no more new fics until at least one of my current ones is completed, but this was just begging to be written. On the bright side, this means you'll always have something to read and I'll always have something to write. If you don't know what Tinder is, it's a dating app that you can download on your phone. You swipe right on people's photos if you like them, or left if you don't, and then if you both swiped right you have a match, meaning you can message one another. I'm going to be changing my usual writing style a little for this fic, since it is set in modern times. Keeping Jafar in character is going to be a challenge because of it, but I'm going to try my best. Then again, this also gives me the opportunity to let him swear in every color of the rainbow, so there's that. I'm not really used to writing in this style, so forgive any inconsistencies. I hope you all enjoy this nonetheless. Feedback is appreciated, and as always, thank you for all your love and support.

_Looking for my diamond in the rough. No hook-ups; serious inquiries only._

Jafar looks with increasing distaste at the phone that has been ripped from his hands twice now. _His_ phone, to be precise. His eyes roam again over the single line of text his best friend has crafted for him as his Tinder bio.

He hates Tinder, thinks it's the stupidest, biggest waste of time in the world, though Jasmine doesn't seem to think so. He's trying his best to take slow, measured breaths through his nose, finding fault in everything this woman does. It's not working, because he still wants to throttle her when she wrenches the phone from his grasp yet again.

"How about this picture? You look kind of okay here." Jasmine sits cross-legged on his carpet, a dark, braided mass of long hair tumbling down her back. A thin, powder-blue shawl is draped over her head and wrapped around her neck, though he will never understand why she bothers with it. If modesty is what she's going for, her exuberant personality spoils the effect the moment she opens her mouth. He watches as she thumbs through his camera roll, eyes narrowing as she zooms in on one photo in particular. Jafar decides he would like nothing more than to leap off the highest floor of his apartment building, but even then he would probably not be able to escape her wrath. The photo in question displays a pair of rather large breasts bursting from beneath a sheer white bra. A more recent acquisition from a woman he has slept with twice now, one that he had been quite proud of. He bites down on his tongue; Jasmine doesn't need to know the details.

She clicks her tongue in disapproval. "See, you see this? This is exactly why you're still single. You are _so_ lucky to have me around."

 _Lucky_ isn't necessarily the word Jafar would use, even on a good day. He almost wishes he had never allowed Jasmine into his car the night she had stumbled drunk in the middle of the road. Her balance had been off, her steps shaky, and when he had crawled at an excruciating pace behind her, honking at her twice, she had sat down cross-legged in the middle of the road, tears streaking her face and clearly drunk off her ass. Surprisingly enough, she had been quite alert for someone who had just finished downing two bottles of tequila over a silly boy at a college party—a fact she had revealed to him as she sat sobbing in the passenger's seat of his car. Jafar hadn't asked any questions, because he really didn't care, but he couldn't just leave such a distressed woman wandering the streets alone at three in the morning. If he hadn't been there, she would have likely been found dead in a ditch the next morning.

He sort of wishes that had been the case now.

He'd tried to get rid of her, really he had, but Jasmine had somehow managed to wrangle his phone from his back pocket when he had dropped her off in front of her dorm, tapping in her number and no doubt taking note of his own. The fact that she managed to remember it at all in her drunken state was an incredible feat in of itself. Still, he had no desire to befriend a child, because at twenty, that's exactly what she had been to him. Even three years later, at the age of twenty-three, he still thinks she belongs in a nursery despite the intelligence that serves as her crown. He hates to admit it, but it's their stubbornness—hers and his combined—that hold them together like glue, even through all the bickering and constant arguments over nothing.

"Did you have to type 'serious inquiries only'? What is so wrong with non-serious ones? You make it sound as if I'm looking to marry the next woman that shows any interest." Jafar stoops down on the carpet next to her, bringing his knees to his chest. A large scarlet macaw parrot is perched behind them on an ivory-colored armchair, his black beak clicking loudly at Jafar's every word. 

Jasmine's response is razor-sharp, biting as always. "Do you really want to be forty, balding, and still single? You _should_ be looking to marry, you should—"

"Whatever happened to having choice, or does that only apply to you women?"

Jasmine huffs. "You're impossible. I worry about you, okay? There is no way a man who looks like you should still be single. It's a crime."

Jafar ignores her praise, but it's not as if he doesn't share her sentiments. "I do not need your help to get dates. I'm doing perfectly well on my own, thank you."

"Yes, because Iago is such an amazing fuck." Jasmine turns her attention to the parrot, who has the audacity to laugh. "Sorry Iago," she adds. "No offense."

"I don't know about Iago, but _I_ think I'm pretty good," Jafar says smoothly, arching his brows. "Care to take me for a test run?"

This earns him a punch to the shoulder, which will most certainly bruise later. Jafar learned pretty quickly the power Jasmine holds in that tiny body of hers, witnessing it for himself when she had used it to break the nose of a man who had been harassing her. "Gross. No thank you." She is still tapping away at his phone, sinking even further into the depths of his camera roll. "Oh, this one's nice too!"

"What are you doing?" He peers at the screen, which flickers through Jasmine's constant tapping and scrolling. He finds himself staring at a picture of himself, unruly black curls flying free and a barely-there smile curving over his lips. Jafar reaches for the phone, his reward an elbow to the ribs.

"Why do you have to meddle?" He rubs at the sore spot at his side. "Why can't you worry about your own business, like that homeless boy you just recently shacked up with—"

Jasmine fixes him with a glare. "I told you, he's going through a transition. He's been through some things and now he's—"

"—been looking for work and going to school so he can have a chance at a future. Yes yes, we know." Jafar sighs, a sigh ripped so deeply from within his body that it completely deflates him. "Can you at least choose a different photo?" He hates his smile. It works well enough on women, but he hates it.

"Shut up. We're not using the ones of you in your work suits. You'll just scare away anyone who's even halfway decent."

Jafar thinks briefly of the last few dates he's had, if they could even be called that. Most had begun well enough until the expected lull in conversation hit, and he always found himself getting bored within the first thirty minutes. His solution to this had always consisted of taking his date back to his apartment and bending her over the kitchen table, clothes flying in all directions as he made the walls tremble with his body. He can't say this fact bothers him, but lately he craves something more—something which he will never admit to Jasmine. There is an emptiness within him that nothing has quite been able to satisfy. Not women, not money, not friendship. As much as she annoys him, Jafar knows he is lucky to have Jasmine, his only friend among the mundanities of everyday life.

His life isn't so bad. In fact, according to most people, he's doing pretty damn well for himself. As an attorney, his law practice keeps him busy enough, and he's made quite the reputation for himself as a clever man who knows his way around a courtroom. Despite his youth, Jafar is bursting with wealth, though he doesn't care much for showing it off. His earnings could have bought his something a little nicer than this broom-closet of an apartment, but it is home, and it is good enough for him. Besides, he is quickly coming to understand that money isn't everything.

Not even cheap sex can stave off his desire for something he can't quite place. Iago, his parrot, has always been wonderful company when he returns home in the middle of the night, exhaustion dripping off his bones. But it isn't the same as having a person waiting for him behind the door. He imagines someone sitting in his armchair when he returns, wearing one of the freshly-laundered shirts he had worn to bed the previous night, her legs bare as she waits for him to come home. It's a fantasy teeming with impossibility.

"You're quiet, finally." Jasmine's voice shakes him from his thoughts. She hands him his phone and claps him on the back. "Go get dressed."

He stares blankly. "I'm...sorry?"

"Go get dressed. You have a date."

He stares at her incredulously, mouth hanging open. Surely she can't be serious. "But you only just set up the thing!"

"Lighten up, asshole. The love of your life awaits."

Jafar doesn't even want to know what nonsense she's managed to message this woman in the seconds it had taken him to get lost in his daydreams.

Jasmine is merciless in her endeavours. "Now, here are a few ground rules." She rushes on before he can interrupt and call her out on her bullshit. "Rule number one: no fucking on the first date. It makes you look cheap, and you, sir, are anything but. Rule number two: At least try to look interested, no matter how boring the date gets. Ask her questions about herself, get to know her. And rule number three..." She trails off, regarding Jafar's panicked expression with glee. "Rule number three: relax. This isn't a death sentence. Just be yourself." Jafar gives her a pained look. "Well, maybe don't be _too_ much yourself. A good dose of mystery is always encouraged."

Jasmine makes for the bedroom. She rifles through his closet, his dresser strewn open as if someone has just tried to rob him. He doesn't have the energy to stop her as she pulls out button-up shirts and an assortment of slacks, carefully considering them as she throws them onto the bed. Jafar needs no help when it comes to style, but he will allow her this one small victory.

After all that fuss, Jasmine produces a white, simple button-down shirt paired with black slacks and a brown leather belt. He suspects that the shirt had been chosen only because it is the only ironed item in his closet. She pushes the clothes toward him, leaving the bedroom so he can change. He emerges minutes later only to have Jasmine spray him with a dash of his cologne. Not too much, but just enough that his scent is recognizable whenever he walks into a room.

She assesses him, her gaze travelling up and down his body, hands needlessly smoothing the collar of his shirt. "You look like a poor bastard who's about to get his balls ripped off, but you'll do." Jasmine brushes her fingertips over his cheek, and he lowers his head begrudgingly to her level, allowing her to press a brief kiss against his skin before he leaves. "Now impress her and go get her."

***

His first Tinder date is somehow exactly what he'd expected: tall, blonde, and wearing too little clothing for his taste. Jafar usually doesn't mind the latter, but this woman is wearing a strapless, slinky black dress—and calling it a dress would be generous—that's so tight and short he could probably fuck her over the table with little fuss. He should probably take it as an insult that Jasmine had thought _this_ to be his type. They will have words later.

"So like, what do you do?" The woman's voice grates annoyingly against his ears. It is much too high, much too just-got-accepted-into-college for his liking. This woman has likely never even seen the inside of a classroom since high school despite her age, which is very close to his own.

"I practice law."

The woman—Selene, he thinks her name is—emits a giggle that resembles that of a snot-faced toddler. Her lashes bat furiously at him from across the table, and Jafar thinks that the sooner he can get the bill and pay for their meals, the sooner he can make his escape and grill that idiotic girl sitting in his apartment for what she has dared put him through.

"Oh!" she squeals. "So like a cop? Cops are so sexy. I dated a cop once. He was really good with giving orders." She reaches a hand into the front of her dress to adjust what he thinks is supposed to be her bra. "You can order _me_ around if you want, Officer."

Jafar begins to count backwards from ten in his head. He thinks he's doing a rather fantastic job at keeping a straight face throughout this circus trick of a date. Exactly how many drugs is this woman doing in her spare time? She doesn't even notice that he hasn't responded to her comments. Her eyes because glassy as the corners of her lips perk up. The red lipstick she wears is slightly smudged, streaking over her upper lip.

His eyes widen as she reaches into a black handbag and produces a small plastic container filled with fine white powder. This is a joke, it _has_ to be a joke. A giggle bubbles from her lips, and she opens it, offering it to him.

"Are you insane?" Jafar hisses. "We're in the middle of a restaurant!" He's usually really good with keeping a level head, even with the women he finds absolutely asinine, but there is no room for patience tonight.

"You're right, we should go outside. We can probably score some better stuff. I know a guy." She winks, and Jafar's nerves are stretching far beyond their limits. He does not mention to her that possession of narcotics can land her two years in prison, but he suspects that she already knows or doesn't care in the slightest. He pries the container gently from her grip and prays that his reputation won't be sullied for it, making a mental note to keep it away from Jasmine. Ever since leaving her hometown—a place where she had been caged like a priceless heirloom—she had taken great liberties with her actions, doing whatever she wished, wherever she wished. She's far from stupid, but she is going to get herself killed one day if she's not careful. 

"We should go." Jafar stuffs the container into the pocket of his slacks and rises from his chair, motioning for the waiter. He sets down a hundred dollar bill and eyes Selene warily.

"Good idea. My place or yours?" Her purr makes him want to rip his ears clean off his head.

"I'll call you a cab."

***

After the longest sixty minutes of his life, Jafar is back at his apartment and dreading what he will find inside. He can already hear the thump of excited footsteps padding toward the door before he even has a chance to turn his key in the lock. He doesn't recall owning a Golden Retriever, but this comes pretty close. Jasmine charges him the moment he steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind him, a million questions tumbling from her lips and none of which he's even remotely interested in answering.

"Well? How'd it go? Tell me, tell me! I want details. Did you like her?"

Jafar sinks down onto the couch, an empty shell of a man. "Oh yes, we're going to plan our wedding tomorrow."

Jasmine sits beside him, her head tilting sideways. He throws a pillow in her general direction, and it hits her square in the face. "How could you ever think I would be into _that_?"

She scoots close to him, head resting on his shoulder. Her voice is dangerously low, sharp eyes assessing every crease in his shirt. "Did you fuck her? You dumbass, don't tell me you fucked her. I told you, rule number one is—"

"No, I didn't fuck her! My god, are you even listening to me?" He throws the container filled with cocaine he's been harboring onto the glass coffee table. Jasmine takes it in, her dark eyes growing wide. She chews her lip, likely deciding whether she should make a joke to lighten the mood or pretend that tonight never happened. She goes for the former. 

"So...you didn't like her then?" Jafar shoots her a glare that could set the entire room ablaze. "Okay, so you didn't like her. But no big deal, you still have options. We can find you another. Besides, it was only your first date, first one in a while. Things can only get better from here, right?"

He doesn't deign that worthy of a response. To his complete horror, Jasmine pulls out her phone and brings up his Tinder profile. Of course she would take down the password and rummage through his business, _of course_.

"Don't you have exams to study for? Shouldn't you be worried about failing all your classes?" It's the middle of April, and Jasmine is set to graduate this June. Jafar knows for a fact she isn't failing anything, because besides himself, she is the smartest person he knows.

She doesn't answer.

"If you won't say anything, then please leave." After the events of this evening, it's really all he can manage.

"Come on, don't be such a spoil-sport. Why don't we—"

"Get. Out. _Please_."

Jasmine sighs. Jafar can hear her walking to the kitchen, likely to grab her cardigan and wallet from the counter. He would usually allow her to stay the night, what with the late hour, but he just wants to be alone. If he wasn't sure that she'd be safe on her own, he would never push her out the door the way he’s just done.

She stops in front of him, patting his head like some kind of favored pet. "I'll text you in the morning. Try not to sulk too hard."

The first thing Jafar does when the door shuts is change his Tinder password. That child has absolutely no right to decide his life for him, even if she does mean well. What he wants more than anything is to delete that stupid Tinder app completely, but Jasmine will just reinstall it anyway, and it wouldn't be worth the trouble of arguing with her. He'll humor her for just a while longer, and then when she grows bored and realizes he's completely hopeless, she'll become tired and move on to something else. Yes, that's what he'll do.

Curiosity gets the best of him as he scrolls through potential matches on the app, swiping left almost immediately on every profile. Why is it that finding a good fuck is practically effortless, but finding a woman who has even half a brain requires the hand of the gods? Is it him, is he really the problem? Is Jasmine right? It's not that he believes he's unattractive, because he knows he's not, but then what? He has no explanation for what he perceives to be terrible luck.

He readies himself to swipe left again—an automatic reflex at his point—but freezes when he sees your photos. The single line of text displayed on your bio causes him to take a second look.

_"The true alchemists do not change lead into gold; they change the world into words." - William H. Gass_

His lips curl. "Well alright, I'll bite."

He thumbs through your photos, taking his time with each one, and he has to admit you're quite cute. Very different from his usual type. All the pictures are selfies, showcasing only your shoulders and face. This should set off warning bells, since he knows not all the profiles on these apps are real. Still though...

His eyes are glued to your face. There's a softness there that he's immediately drawn to. It's a face he wouldn't mind waking up to every morning, though maybe it's a little too early to have such thoughts.

The first photo has you smiling sweetly for the camera, your dark hair falling in two braids over each of your shoulders. He can't tell where you are, but it's a shot that was definitely taken outside. Round, oversized glasses sit on your nose, and you wear minimal makeup. The next one is the same, except your hair is pulled into a messy bun at the crown of your head. You clutch a book to your chest, but Jafar can't quite make out the title. Even so, this is the most promising thing he's come across in the last twenty-four hours.

Jafar swipes right before he can change his mind, and not even a minute later, a notification sounds informing him that he has a match. He stares at his phone as if he's never seen it before, your face peering up at him from the screen.

"Don't ruin this," he whispers to himself. He types a message, nerves crackling as he hits 'send.' It's not as if he's never dated before, so what _is_ his problem?

 **[11:45] Jafar:** Are you real?

He sets down his phone, refusing to be that loser who stays up all night waiting for a message from a woman he's never met. He doesn't have to wait long, however. His phone vibrates, making him jump.

 **[11:46] You:** i'm real if you want me to be

He smiles, unable to help himself before typing out another message, this time referencing your bio.

 **[11:46] Jafar:** Who would want to change the world into words? What use is there in that?

 **[11:47] You:** depends on your point of view. would you rather have all the money in the world or a good story you could tell for years to come? which one would have a lasting impact?

A question as an answer. Clever.

 **[11:48] Jafar:** Depends on the story.

 **[11:49] Jafar:** Want to be part of mine?

He hesitates with that last message. It's not too forward, right? It's not as if he's just propositioned you. He watches as it sends, a read receipt appearing almost immediately.

 **[11:49] You:** maybe. what are you offering?

Feeling suddenly brave, Jafar opens the camera app on his phone and snaps a quick photo. His hair is out of place, his forehead is sweaty, and his beard could probably use a trim, but at least he's smiling. According to Jasmine, his smile is the key to a lasting relationship, which of course he thinks is total garbage. As if it would ever be that easy.

He hits send, and the reply is instant.

 **[11:50] You:** i might just be able to make an exception for you, sir ❤️

A wide grin cracks his face from ear to ear.

 **[11:51] Jafar:** You think I'm good looking, do you? 😉

 **[11:52] You:** maybe just a little... simmer down there, handsome

Jafar's smile never leaves his face, even as he unbuttons his shirt and throws off his slacks, collapsing into bed in nothing but his boxers. He stays awake all night, the screen of his phone emitting the only light in the bedroom. Maybe Tinder isn't so terrible after all...


End file.
